“My friend in the FBI can protect you,” Mr. Nash says.
“How high up is your friend?”
“He’s a special agent.”
“Is that higher or lower than an assistant special agent in charge?”
“Lower, I believe.”
I shake my head. “He can’t help me.”
“At least talk to him,” Beau pleads.
“It is lower,” Cora confirms, looking at her phone. “At the field-office level, the only position higher than an assistant SAC is the special agent in charge.”
“Why can’t he help you?” Mr. Nash asks.
“Because I fucked an assistant SAC. Hell, he might not even be an assistant anymore. The way he talked like he was such a big man—and they love to fucking talk—he could’ve been promoted since then. His credit card info is going to be on the thumb drive. As soon as he sees it, I’m done.” I lean across the table at Cora and Mr. Nash. “You can’t help me.”
“I trust my friend.”
“I don’t trust anyone except Beau. Not you. Not Cora. Not your FBI friend. No one.”
“Let me talk to him, see what he can work out.”
“How is that going to help Marie?”
“It’ll help you and Marie.”
“Don’t you get it?” I pound on the table. “We’ll both be dead as soon as you open your mouth.”
“Do you remember his name?” Cora asks
“No. We weren’t exactly at a garden party, you know.”
“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”
“I remember all of their faces.”
She turns her phone toward me. “Is this him?”
It’s the splash page for the local field office. Under the heading SAN DIEGO LEADERSHIP is a photo of a man I don’t recognize, listed as the special agent in charge.
“No.”
She hands her phone to Mr. Nash. “Can your friend get us in with him?”
“I should probably make sure I haven’t fucked your friend first,” I tell Mr. Nash.
He flushes at my crude language, then pulls out his phone and taps the screen. He shows it to me. “This is my friend.”
“I don’t know him,” I say.
Mr. Nash tries to disguise his heavy exhale of relief by smoothing down his comb-over. “Will you meet with him? He’s going to need something to take to his boss.”
I’m still not convinced this is a good idea. “Just because I didn’t fuck him or his boss doesn’t mean none of Javier’s other girls didn’t. I’ll meet with him, but not here and not at his office.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange.” Mr. Nash gets up from the table and leaves me with Cora and Beau.
“I’m sorry,” Cora says. “I was trying to protect my brother.”
“I know. So was I.”
“In a weird way, I can see that now. I hope things work out for you.”
“They won’t. But thanks.” I have to look away from her face, because all I see is pity.
“Can I talk to you outside?” Cora asks Beau.
“I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” he tells me.
“It’s not like I have somewhere to go.”
He frowns at me before following Cora into the hall. They close the door so I can’t hear what they say. A spider hangs in a web in a corner of the room. I had one as a pet in the first room Javier put me in. I talked to it like it was that spider from the children’s book about a pig. It’s stupid to think about now, but I was so lonely. The loneliness wasn’t the worst part, it was the best. I’ve gotten to where I prefer to be alone. The isolation Mr. Nash talked about? Heaven. It’s weird because I used to love the noise and energy of crowds. The only person I can spend infinite amounts of time with is Beau.
Beau comes back into the room and sits across the table from me. We’re awkward now. I should’ve run while he was in here talking to Mr. Nash. It crossed my mind. It crossed Beau’s too, because he looked surprised to see me when he came back into the office. The way he looked at me then. No other man will ever look at me like that. I didn’t think it was possible to be looked at like that. He avoids my gaze now, already separating himself from me. It’s protective, I know, but it still hurts. He can’t forgive me. I didn’t expect him to. He wants to. That should be of some consolation to me, but it’s not, because it’s tearing him in two.
“Mr. Nash will make sure you’re protected,” he says.
I make a noncommittal noise that he can interpret any way he likes.
“He’s on the phone with his FBI friend right now.”
“If you have work or something to do, you should go do it. You don’t have to sit here with me.”
“I know.”
This is the first time our silence has been uncomfortable. He has something to say, but he’s not sure if he should say it. I’m not sure if he should either. The silence stretches so thin I can hear it like a plucked string reverberating in the air around us. One of us is going to break it, but neither of us wants to be the one to do it.
I lay my head on the table and close my eyes so I don’t have to look at him. Why is he here? I don’t need a babysitter.
“It’s not like I’m going to run,” I mumble.